


Only the Essentials

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Travel, Trip - Freeform, especially when you just replicate everything you need, packing is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Packing for Cardassia is a real challenge. What do you bring when you've always been able to replicate what you need? What really counts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Essentials

Garak's instructions had been short and simple and impossible to follow:

"Pack lightly. Bring only the essentials."

Now, on his knees before one duffel bag and a small wheeled pack, he clenched his fists and groaned.

How did you choose? How did you _choose?_

Well, Kukalaka was going, that was obvious; he fit neatly into the bottom of the pack. And so was his favourite racquet, no matter whether anyone there played, he'd _teach_ them if he had to and so it was going and that was final. And his copy of _Crimson Shadow_ because he was a sentimental idiot. His favourite holoprograms too, downloaded to hard copy because who knew what kind of data uplink they'd have working? Let alone a holosuite…

But after that, well… you just didn't bring much else. Why would you? If you needed it, you could replicate it. Or get one from the resource depot. Or borrow a friend's.

Nobody on Cardassia was going to have the right kind of hairbrush, let alone any kind of urge to lend it to an errant Human. The resource depots were going to have better things to do than provide said Human with spare underthings. And as for replicators…

 _Few and far between,_ Garak had warned, _and what they can make is strictly limited, and may I say, quite inferior._ His tone had been unusually sour; then again, he had been without rokassa juice for months now. His ill-feeling towards the replicators could perhaps be understood…

_So what do I bring?_

Hairbrush. Toothbrush. Hmm… did Cardassians even brush their teeth? Wait, stupid, Garak's breath smelled of lennet sometimes—yes, they did, although upon reflection he added a mint toothpaste to the bag. Anti-perspirant. Two of those—a luxury, but he'd read the climate reports, he knew what he was getting into. He had his medkit, that was a blessing; he wouldn't go wanting for basic Human remedies, and the hospitals ought to be able to handle anything worse, _please let me not find out_.

Clothes were trickier. You were just supposed to replicate them, and recycle them when they got too ratty. That was how things _worked._ He couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed to amass quite so many sets of clothing, though. _I'm always in uniform… when did I even wear this?_

An hour's hard labour in front of the mirror resulted in clothes draped over the bed and strewn across the floor, with the favoured few that he simply couldn't leave behind rolled up neatly at his feet. He'd narrowed it down to four pairs of underpants that really, _really_ fit—because often with repli-stock you got these funny variations, and it just wasn't much fun seeking out new worlds if you had to keep recalibrating your sensor array, so to speak—and also his uniform—on-duty or not, he wanted it with him—and two shirts that Garak didn't hate and one he did, likewise trousers, likewise his blue pyjamas which would be too hot for Cardassia and it didn't _matter,_ and now what? He wondered as he crammed rolled-up clothing into recalcitrant luggage—

_What am I forgetting?_

Food. There was food. Could he even bring food? Would they have tea? Cardassians drank tea… then again, a man could get awfully sick of red-leaf…

"Computer, five bulk packages of Tarkalean tea, dry-leaf format."

But when they materialized they were too big, too damned big, and so he whittled it down to three, then to one, and told himself he'd make half a bag at a time. Weak tea was better than no tea…

Books. Games? But Garak had both, and while he didn't absolutely love the man's taste in literature, he could make do. Kotra was fine too, he liked kotra… Oh!

"One pack of Human playing cards, standard 52-card deck. Wait, make that two." Because he could teach Garak Crazy Eights. Or perhaps Black Queen—that was a good one, that whiled away the hours. Hell, there was always Go Fish.

The decks just fit in the end of the duffel bag, tucked into the little side pocket, and that was it, that _had_ to be it because there wasn't any _room._ The bag bulged. The pack brimmed over.

_So why am I still missing something…?_

He stood back, ran his hands through his hair, looked, thought.

Frowned.

Sighed.

Pulled out the shirt Garak hated and tossed it on to the bed.

"Computer, a pack of concentrated rokassa extract, please. And a box of assorted chocolates, heavy on the flower centres."

They snuggled neatly into the space the shirt left behind. If he sat on the little bag as he sealed it, it all fit.

_And now I'm ready._

Whatever else he needed, he'd have to find it when he got there.


End file.
